Have you ever got up in the morning feeling bored and listless and by noon you are so bored and listless that you can’t even tolerate yourself? And then you start looking around for something to end your boredom and the only thing you see is a Viking? Well, that’s me today.

So I’m wondering what I can do with The Viking that would break the monotony of my current existence. Of course the obvious answer is sex. Having sex with a Viking is awesome but I’m not really in the mood because I’m bored and listless. If only he would entertain me. Maybe I should just ask him. Maybe he would be more than happy to entertain me instead of working in the garage.

Like this:

I cut off my left hand. Making Caesar Salad. I thought, “If The Viking doesn’t come in the house soon I may not make it”. I try to remember what I’m supposed to do in this situation. Do I elevate the arm? Tie a tourniquet? Both? Should I put my severed hand in the fridge?

I decided on the ‘laying on the floor and raising my arm toward the ceiling option’. I should have wrapped something around the stump; liquid is susceptible to gravity. Laying there, waiting for The Viking and reflecting on my injury, I wondered if I should be trusted with sharp and pointy objects any more. I did stab myself just last week after all.

I hear The Viking slam the garage door, which means he’s heading for the house. I yell, “SCULLERY MAID DOWN!!”

Like this:

I had to buy groceries today. And in an effort to get myself a little more organized so I don’t waste most of my time every damned day, I got my shit together and ended up at the store earlier than I usually do. And, well……there were issues.

There was a surprisingly large percentage of older men there today. Guys like my father, who lived during the great years when the wife could stay at home and raise the kids and the men came home to a hot meal without knowing for certain how that magic happened. And there were Laundry Fairies and Leprechauns that dusted and cleaned and vacuumed in that world where he slept each night.

A terrible disaster happened in my purse. It was ghastly! A pen that I have had for 5 years exploded its guts all over the inside pocket. That’s gratitude for you! I loved that pen. I took it with me everywhere, drew lovely doodles with it, and showed it to my friends as the best pen in the whole world!

Maybe it was holding a grudge over that time I accidentally left it in the car overnight when it was -25 degrees, but that was 3 years ago and I hardly think that was a good excuse to commit pen suicide. I apologized after all, and everything seemed okay. It’s not like it left blotches or didn’t lay down an even trail of ink to indicate that there might be a crisis brewing.

I knew from a very early age that I was a procrastinator. I knew this because my mother said, “You’re a procrastinator.” My eyes probably started darting around the room at that moment, hoping to get a hint from somewhere what the hell a ‘Procrastinator’ was. “Look it up in the dictionary. Now.” (meaning I couldn’t put it off for a less busy moment, I guess). I was hoping it would be a good thing but I had my suspicions that it wasn’t; my older sister was the usual recipient of random compliments, not me. I was the one everyone looked at when someone said, “Who did that?!”

I fiddled through the pages of the dictionary until I found it, or at least what I hoped was it because how in the hell do you spell ‘procrastinate’? It said:

I received my first negative feedback today. I read it over and over again and my face grew warm and my throat closed up. I knew it would happen eventually. Of course I knew! You can’t put yourself out there and expect no one to take issue with something you said or wrote or did. I expected it with my first post with a comment that read something like “What are you even doing here in the Bloggesphere? Get thee back to whence thou came, Amateur!” When it didn’t happen I started to hope that perhaps I had something to offer to the world. Admittedly it’s not the ability to time travel or the abolishment of corduroy but still….

Like this:

I’m kind of cranky today. I hate days like that. I’m usually perfectly content and happy and roll with the occasional punches. Not today though. I’m tired because I had a shitty sleep last night and my shoulders and neck are sore, that space between my eyebrows has a headache and I have a slight stomach ache. I should probably be wearing warning labels. If I did they would say:

KEEP BACK 30 METERS…..or further. Yes, further is better.

DANGER OF BALLISTIC MISSILES….some may actually explode on impact.

DO NOT ENGAGE THIS PERSON….unless you have doughnuts….or chocolate cake.

BEWARE OF HIDDEN WEAPONS….actually just beware of any weapon, hidden or otherwise.

SUSPEND ALL REQUESTS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE….seriously, don’t ask me for a damned thing.

Like this:

Shopping is not something I enjoy. Grocery shopping is a nightmare of trying to avoid all the food that start yelling at me the moment I walk through the automatic doors. It’s even worse when I’m hungry and those fucking doughnuts start up with me. Clothes shopping is an even bigger nightmare because….well….I have big boobs…..and nothing fits properly. I’m left trying to find the best fit that doesn’t fit so I can take it to a tailor who can make it fit. Sigh.

And then there is the matter of shopping for things for our home. Thankfully, The Viking doesn’t interfere very often because the only things he’s really interested in is the refrigerator, the TV and the bed, everything in between is just fluff.